1 comments/ 17586 views/ 3 favorites Born To Ch. 02 By: PenningFreer I crave cum early in the morning, but I didn't know how to explain it to Pen the first time. He must have thought I was just being especially nice. But there is something about the morning relaxation and the smell of bodies that makes me need it. Usually I wake up first and the fantasies start building. I reach for that first touch of my pussy and it never disappoints me. The fire starts burning slowly. I need this. I was born to love this. Pen wakes with my rustling and reaches down to find my fingers on my cunt. He knows where this is going. It's going down. I slide down his firm belly and waste no time slipping my lips firmly over the head of his dick, perfectly fitting my lips so they form a seal with his bulb tight in my mouth. I don't take it out again until about, say, 5:42 or 5:55. He grows into my mouth and I just hold his cock, and breathe through my nose. I finger my pussy and let him move around in my mouth, giving him just enough space to do his thing with his dick while I do mine. Today it's almost more than he can stand. He wants to pump madly but I just want to suck and swallow. He knows it's better for everyone if I get my way. Spit builds up and oozes out the side of my mouth. I love it when that happens. It adds to the smell of raw man woman naked rage dance body essence. Soon I feel the thickness of accumulating cum on my tongue and I run the edge of my tongue around to catch it all. I always do, scraping it off the shaft, up safely across my teeth and onto the taste buds where it can do its stuff to my arousal. This time I decide to start sucking firmly, moving my mouth about an inch up and down – no more. Pen is murmuring, almost begging to fuck, but that's later. First, into my mouth with that beautiful morning liquid hormone semen that built through the night, no doubt fueling his dreams with what comes to him almost every morning. It's never more than a couple of minutes. His dick is swelling now and he is tensing like a rock. It will be any second now. I relax and get ready to swallow. Yes. Yes. Feeling. A little longer. Is it? Yes. YES! NOW! I tense and relax and...it's here. Cock strain. One last huge muscular contraction between his legs, between my lips. Torrential wave one warming my waiting welcoming mouth. I hold my cheek firmly against his belly to keep him from driving his dick into my throat when he starts thrashing out his orgasm. And now I am flooded with hot thick liquid protein. Salty cream hits the very back of my throat and collects around my tongue. I settle down to start slow swallowing the delicious mess but it's out my mouth and over my face, slipping off into his belly button. I'll get that later. You know slow swallowing, don't you...? Because now I want to slow down and find that wakeup orgasm in my cunt. The decadence of deliberately drinking cum out of a man's cock overwhelms my senses and my pussy is throbbing toward orgasm in a few more seconds. OKAY. Here I come. I moan and finally let the cock slide out of my mouth, across my lips. My head drops back and I jerk into my own come, my ass thrashing wildly. My knees splayed outward wide, heels digging and bouncing, smacking Pen's legs. In an hour I'll be seeing clients, now I am a wild sensual being, savoring the strength of human bodies in the darkness, panting with arousal. There is no need to say the words "good morning" from a mouth slick with sperm. All has been said that needs to be said. I finally slip out to the bathroom and get ready to shower. I am just getting to splashing water on my face when I feel strong hands around my waist and a firm body easing into my back side. I am pulled away from the sink and lowered to the carpet, where I drop my cheek to the carpet. A towel is pulled from the rack and tossed under my face. My ass cheeks are gently but firmly pulled apart and then a warm tongue is in my crack, licking up and down in the masturbated wetness. I freeze and tense into a fresh arousal. Just as suddenly as I slipped cock into my mouth earlier, Pen's tongue delves into my cunt. I am biting at the towel and grinding my pelvis in circles like a belly dancer, trying to eat his tongue with my pussy. His tongue is out of my pussy and up to my asshole. He circles the rim of my ass then he is inside it, thrusting deep. Then there are alternate strokes, one in my ass, one in my cunt. Then there is teasing – for which he is going to pay dearly this afternoon. One tongue thrust in my ass, two in my pussy, two in my ass, a pause, then two thrusts of tongue in my pussy. I flinch every time he surprises me with a different stroke. Then there is nothing for a couple of seconds. Then I am suddenly stuffed full of hot pulsating meat. My pussy sloshes around Pen's massive dick. His fingers are around my waist and onto my clit. Just as hard as I sucked him dry, he works my cunt. He bites my back and neck and fucks me with firm, deep strokes. Then I am going over the edge. I slam back into his cock and pump toward orgasm while he holds firm and rocks into me, holding himself firm for me to fire my orgasm into. OKAY AGAIN ALREADY. I am coming and gasping. My pussy is locked onto his cock and squeezing uncontrollably. When the coming subsides a little, Pen starts his finish off fucking. So I hold firm so he can fuck off into me. I feel him tremble and tense and then I get a flood of cum into my body. You know finish-off fucking don't you...? After he spurts into me several times, I turn quickly and face him, pulling him to me on the carpet. He slides back in and we finish fucking slowly, rubbing skin and coating ourselves with each other. I was born to fuck. Now we are twenty minutes from seeing clients and the shower and coffee are a blur. I just don't have time to start a day any other way. Born To Ch. 03 Cum floods my mouth and covers my tongue. Warm and thick and rich. I let it fill me. I hold it in my mouth and run my tongue around in it to feel the thick saltiness. I want to swallow it. But I also want to play with it. Swallow wins this time and I tilt my head for you to watch. I let it slide down my throat and I open my mouth so you can watch. You are still coming as I swallow and I start gathering it again. I am sucking your dick and drinking your semen. How intimate is that? No amount of adolescent fantasy prepared me to feel this way. Why do we ever wear clothes when nakedness is so perfect? In my panties and skirt my pussy feels closed, imprisoned. Now she is healthy and open and vibrant. I smell that delicious cunt fragrance and my fingers explore the slippery wetness that oozes out and between my legs, drifting down to gather on my blouse that somehow I am sitting on. I let myself flow. I somehow can see the full image of our actions, like an out of body experience, and this full image tickles all our senses, not just our eyes. You are naked wearing only a light sweat covering. You are still trembling and your chest is flushed with your orgasm. Your cock is still enormous and pulsating with strong contractions, squeezing every little drop of sperm onto my lips. I am so giddy with delight to be swallowing your cum. I wonder how I ever did this the first time. Then I try to remember a time before I was doing this. There wasn't such a time. Sex is forever. It is infinite, actually, meaning only that it is complete within itself. It requires nothing beyond itself for completion or perfection. Plato, in so many words, was right - when we fuck, we become whole (again) and we become perfect. We do what we really are. We put on clothes afterward only to shade us from the blinding glory of our truest natures. That doesn't mean nothing else is beautiful or worthwhile. Clothed time is simply time away from perfection and completion. Resting if you will. It's nobody else's business that I tease you by opening my mouth and showing you that your cum is all messy inside. Or that you are willing to let me kiss you and make your mouth messy with it. This is our erotica. Since sex is perfect and complete, there is no room for what anyone else might think. Now, what do I want? I want to fuck your mouth. While I am fucking your mouth I will move my open cunt and bottom around all over your mouth so I can feel both the movement and the touch. That is dancing isn't it? So let it be dancing. And who's to know or care if I move a little too far this way or that? If I open one bottom orifice or the other? If I say messy words like "cunt" instead of vagina, or "lick...my...ass...just...sooooo.."? Who else's business is it but ours? For now anyway...? Who has to know that you like to let your tongue drift to my asshole and probe around the edges, and maybe a little too much inside me. And who has to know that I absolutely go nuts and adore it when you do that. Love is not sex, and sex is not love, but love and sex fuck each other like crazy. Love and sex - they are all over each other. Love and sex can't tell where one of them ends and the other begins. Sex is a man and a woman naked on my couch, sweated up and messy with each other's tastes coating each mouth. Sex is being lost in that forever land with this audacious sense that this is perfectly right and perfectly normal. Love is the same thing. Ridiculous isn't it? Now hold still while I paint your tongue with my cunt, pointing my slippery pussy lips as my paint brush to spread cunt-cum over your lips evenly. There, nice. the world should see this. Yes. Tongue me open and taste me. Yes. Find my asshole and work it open. That's it. Push my cum along my asshole ridge way up inside me as far as your tongue will go. How could I not love swallowing your stuff? The more you worship my cunt, my pussy cum, my asshole, the more I crave your cock cum. Mess me up with it again – but, wait, a little later. Let me see if you are growing agai...yes, you are. Keep working me and watch you return. As I work you, watch me return again, and again, and again. Ah, yes, there it is again - that Infinity part. Let me lay back against the bare brick wall and open my mouth, my whole face, to your fucking, to your mess. Oh my. Did I get this out of order? We were just...well, I changed my mind. The bare brick wall digging into my bronzed back. Do it. Now. But we're not done. I told you I don't want just for you to fuck me, I want to watch you fuck me. Film. That is why God invented film. Film erotica is a very fine tool for one, and many "ones" use it. Shared erotica is just too intense, too vulnerable-making for most people. So, come here naked with me and let's put on our favorite erotic films – all weekend. One after the other. Our favorite film fucking, slow motion – Vivaldi instead of B-grade movie drum machine tracks on the big speakers. Let's lose ourselves in it. And let's get the cameras. Yes, mister, all the cameras, still and motion. Just like sex, just like love. Frozen moments, meandering motion. Waves and particles. I'll show you mine, you show me yours. You immerse yourself in your visual while I carry out my own erotic voyage with your body. This takes some pressure off both of us, reckon? We can each explore our own thoughts and desires without having to communicate them or expect them from each other. And we can get ideas. Yes. Capture what we see only in our heads to bring out and play with when we want, when we're tired but turned on, on into our older years, for show and tell with our friends, to make new friends. Then tomorrow, some of my friends and some of your friends and some of our friends will replace the film with their flesh. I think I'll call this venture something home grown and earthy, real and pungent. It will simply be erotica in our own life, with friends. Maybe I'll start a business. Yes, mister. I am starting yet another business. I'm calling it Porn Next Door. Let's go get perfect. Born To Ch. 04 Author's note and disclaimer: Dear readers, I am no writer. But you will want to read the journal notes below from One who is a writer. I am now what you could describe as a fabulously wealthy drifter of sorts with only one mission: Find Her. She made me a writer when she handed me her journals and essays. I previously published three random journal notes at the request of this very special person. I have now come to a watershed point in my commitment to her to share her thoughts, the journal notes of this remarkable woman who, from our first session, when I was a bonafide young sex therapist, referred to herself only as "Born To." I sit now in my makeshift office in a remote cottage with the western wall all glass, and half of the eastern wall all glass, somewhere in the vast, open Southwest plains, and I stare through bleary, weary eyes at the huge stacks of papers on my oaken desk identified with a yellow sticky note only as "Born To." I haven't heard from her in over two years now. I have no further input from her as to the order of these voluminous notes, let alone what some of the illusions refer to. I must now try to piece her words together into some sort of order. What you will read now must, of necessity, be her story as pieced together by me, the best I can, using all I know. I make no pretence of chronological accuracy, nor of the accuracy of the journals of others - her words are now scrambled with mine, and with other notes from other sources who were blessed to encounter her on their paths. For all my disclaimer about factual validity, don't kid yourself. Question me as a writer (which I am not) all you want. But I have no doubt that when you feast your eyes on her actual words written or spoken to me and subsequently transcribed from her tapes, you will have no doubt about her reality. You will quickly feel the difference between her other-worldly words and mine: No Truer Words Have Ever Been Written. My failing eyesight, drifting attention span, and constant diligence looking over my shoulder are to blame for parceling this out to you in short segments rather than just having it transcribed as a whole. Because I am predominantly alone and relatively isolated from society (about which I will explain more later) I am driven to publish this stack of notes as I finish each day's work, from my fear that one day I won't wake to another day's work. Given what I then considered to be the grand life I once had as a responsible social being with both the doctorate in philosophy and military rank, I never expected to say this into the ferocious ears and eyes of nobody but the vast, empty desert creeping toward the sloping mountains which stretch southward toward Mexico, though not quite that far, and northward to Canada, where I know she has been in the last two years. But, ironically, the embarrassing fact is true: You, my readers, have become my best friends, because it is only with you that I can speak of Her. And so long as I speak of her to you, and take this search one day at a time, without writing the final chapter that I would need to pen to set myself free from Her, I still hold out hope: She is there. I will find her or she will find me. First my morning coffee, a few encrypted phone calls to assure that a vast fortune is secure and ready for immediate transfer in case I don't make the calls tomorrow morning, and I begin the unenviable, but sacred (to me) task of trying to impose at least arbitrary order to the stacks of her notes, notes from strangers who encountered her, and notes from many who loved her once or many times -- interspersed further with various newspaper and magazine articles describing her sightings and activities -- or sightings and activities attributed to her: sometimes it's hard to know. For reasons I will disclose in time, God willing, I have at my disposal two hours per morning with which to pursue her bidding. You will easily discern my own weak notes among those of the writers she encountered, herself foremost -- again, I am no writer. I am a relatively isolated man whose life has culminated in this: Searching for Her. So, the last words she spoke to me, piercing deep into my soul though her burning eyes, were: "Penning, tell this story. You KNOW." Her last actions, ironically reminiscent of countless episodes of me thrusting my life essence deep into her, were to thrust the large cardboard box full of her journal entries, essays, and notes into my trembling hands, then she turned and walked into the pungent Asian darkness, East China sea at her back, one last mysterious unexplained letter clenched in her hand. * Penning's note: I return to work with more of her notes from the time of our earliest acquaintance. I, a young psychotherapist; she a sprite enigma whose prodigious journal continued to grow over the fleeting few years I had her to love in person. * * * * * * Undated: I make a ton of money when I fuck, but I don't fuck for money. I fuck because I am consumed with fucking. Calling me a slut is safer far than calling me a prostitute. Not because prostitution is beneath me - nothing sexual is beneath me - but because prostitution bores me and doesn't provide me enough freedom to fuck as creatively as I am drawn to fuck. Imagine that. I couldn't be a prostitute because it would distract me from my appetite for cock and pussy. I understand you probably must think my only job is telling you how to run your business or your life, and that my only money is what your company pays my company in cash for me to be here in your office, and that the only reason I could possibly be interested in wrapping my lustful arms and thighs around your waist tonight might be because I might be a little lonely this week. Surprise. Actually, I am indeed going to fuck you, suck your cock until you provide my tongue her favorite taste, and let you feast in my eyes while I feast between your thighs. But it's not because I am lonely and you are here. It's because I love you and want to savor you and pleasure you like you've never been done. Something in your eyes and your face tells me to try you. To unabashedly fuck you. Surprise, my new friend, my lucky lover. You are going to like this a lot. We are going to fuck. The real thing. I love you because you might be him. I'll know. You'll know. You'll know if you see me again. I want to be as free as I can to pursue fucking with all my being. Fortunately, I have all the money I could possibly need to fuck you beyond your wildest imagination. Lucky you. But you will probably want a lot of money on your own. Not because you will need to give me money to fuck you like I am going to do - I am going to fuck you because I need to, not because I need any more money - but you'll need the money because you are going to want to find me again after I fuck you. And you are going to need a lot of money to do that. I get around. Because I was born to fuck, I faced my morality head on, eyes wide open, heart throbbing with fear and excitement - say with excited fear. Morality is the human rationale for not taking the next plunge into something new. I'll say it again: Morality is the human rationale for not taking the next plunge into something new. I knew I was going to sin when I came in to your room. I knew I was going to enjoy it. I knew I was going to be forgiven. But I knew I was going to break rules. I honor only one rule: and it is golden. Do you know the rule of gold? Anything else, everything else, we can consider. Always consenting, always by choice: I choose yes. I consent. Do you? Since every moment of my life is consumed with sex and its pursuit, and with the certainty that a man holds my soul and is searching for me one pussy at a time, as I search for him one cock at a time, I knew I needed a ton of money. If morality is the human rationale for not taking the next plunge into something new, I hereby check my morality at your door when I let myself into your room. Open your soul, mister. I'm stepping inside, wet, ready, willing, able, craving. I want your cum. You want mine. Whatever we don't do while we are here will not be because of moral barriers - not mine anyway. Shawn Colvin said it best in her song, something like this: You don't have to drag me down - I descend. My objective reason for starting Porn Next Door (PND) was to provide myself a beautiful life - on my own terms. I started it near the campus of a prestigious North American University. I chose the hottest and smartest girls I could find, and I let them choose their men. I told them only one thing when I handed them an envelope containing exactly one million and one dollars in cash: "When you fuck on film, fuck messy. When you edit your takes, edit out what's clean and contrived - leave the sacred semen sacrosanct. When you write your scripts, talk messy." I looked the two astonished, athletically prepared, ravishing beauties in the eyes for a few long seconds, and I slowly undid my blouse. Then I stepped out of my jeans, then my pink, frilly panties. I unstrapped my leg holster and removed my pistol, setting it closer to them than me. I handed Beth my panties and reached to kiss Elle. I took both girls by the hand and led them to my bed. Born To Ch. 05 I was born to...well, let me explain. I am naked. I spread my legs wide and show you my cunt. I open it with my fingers. I let my excitement flow from my mind down my chest, one chakra at a time. I take my time feeling naked. Letting the freedom sink in. Leisure. Sex is about indulging the illusion of leisure. Your dick will grow straight and long and hard and wide and thick and wet and all and it will reach for my mouth or my cunt without much direction or attention. That is simply what your dick does. What does not happen naturally is for us to leisurely become one with that natural impulse and simply leisurely INDULGE it. This is what so many people miss when they write sex off as just a "normal function." Some people are horrified by the thought of sperm in my mouth, semen swimming around in liquid You. Call it cum, please. There, that feels much better. Cum tastes better than semen or sperm. When you come in my mouth doesn't that bring you closer? Come Here. Come right here in my mouth. Come here. Come right here into my pussy. Look what you're doing. Get close. Come close. Coming into my body. Come into my pussy. Come into my mouth. Come into my ass. Come to me. Come in me. Come on me. Come thinking me. Come find me. Just...fucking...come. Already. (Take your orgasm elsewhere). Some people imagine semen in a mouth. Sperm in a pussy. What they miss is the rich texture of leisurely indulging that very simple and pretty basic act of drinking what's put before you. Semen describes slimy stuff hiding little swimming survivors. Sperm are just spermatozoa. They are little egg-sniffers. They do a big job but they do nothing if you don't invite them to the party. You have to tell them to COME. COME little twisty tail guys. Swim this way. Swim to the tongue. Swim toward the clit (avoid the "clitoris" at all costs). Paddle to the pussy. Arrive at the ass. COME to mama. Now don't be afraid little semen sperm egg-sniffers. This isn't going to hurt at all. Out of his body into my body. Don't worry, we're both the same boy-girl body with space tucked in between us most of the day to make us miss each other. That's it, think theme park. Over and around my teeth, you'll fit and glide around and between those shiny biters. Hover at my tongue then swish around in your slick little paddle puddle and follow the curve of my cheek down, down, down, down, oops -- gone. It's alright. It's all the same. It's DOWN. Going Down is Good. Gives whole new meaning to going down does it not? COME (here) and GO (down): the two most delicious mouth sounds in the universe. Come...here...now. Go...down...there. Get it? Leave the anatomy books at home. Why do you come in my mouth anyway? It's easy really. Because you are feeling better and better about life and your body gets carried away and you just follow it - right into me. It feels magnificent and the result is simply that you finally explode and your cum shoots out of your cock and it happens to be my mouth that is there this time instead of my cunt. We don't do this because we sat there in a calm collected moment and decided it might look good, or taste good, or be...fun. We do it because it feels good and it tastes good...now, now that our clothes are on the fucking floor. It looks good and tastes even better as we come to enjoy the experience over time and associate the visuals with the pleasure. No, wait. We do it because it turns us on to eat each other's bodies. And we like to look at it now -- and then we like it better over time. There. Now, back to leisure. I love for you to fuck at me with your dick and suck at my skin and the wet parts and eat my cunt for dessert - but I really love for you to LEISURELY eat my pussy, and to leisurely watch you eat me out. It doesn't matter that this leisure may be an illusion; it isn't an illusion while you are sucking me. Not for either of us. Leisure doesn't just happen. You surrender to leisure. Or not. We will. We do. I DO. You may kiss the... Open your eyes. Look at my eyes. They're all shiny and bright and that middle dark spot is fucking huge. So is yours mister. Look in mine and see yours in the mirror. Uh oh. What do you see? Messy, messy cunt. Look. Look leisurely. Touch twat with tip of finger. Transfer twat to tongue. Taste tangy twat. Eyes move from pussy to eyes, eyes to pussy. Watch me watch you taste me. Fuck my eyes with your action. Hmmm. You are eating my body right before my eyes. What's the matter for you? What are ya nuts? Nope. Alive. Keep doing this long. Long. Longer. Longest. Don't stop. And if being dressed is so fucking good, why is it that we always remember far more the thrill of taking off our clothes and baring our private parts than we ever remember putting clothes on them to start with? Who doesn't fondly remember the cool, crisp elation of cool autumn air on newly naked nerves on nipples and thighs, balls, dick, ass, chest, tit? Life began with fucking. Life begins again when we look around us at this bleak controlled safe world and ask this: What happened to fucking? Find fucking. There it is. The "Sex" word just didn't pan out. "Intercourse" just murdered my mind. FIND FUCKING. Where did it get lost? Come here. I'll show you. I was born to fuck. I just fuck, and fuck, and fuck, and fuck. Born To Ch. 06 Penning's note: Pouring through the journal notes she left me, I was a little confused for months about one particularly anachronistic, haunting set of notes. Though they were in her "Born To" box of notes, they were not quite her writing – but then again parts of it were her writing. Perhaps her writing, but not her voice I should say. I set these particular notes before me and spent a long afternoon and evening trying to match font and typeset and determine an order to them. The originals from fading handwritten notes (which I had initially assumed were hers) had been committed to manuscript, typed on a typewriter, typed meticulously within manuscript standards, and it appears they were all transcribed at once given that the dates run together seamlessly on the pages, though they obviously show a progression over time – was it an earlier journal Born To typed? Perhaps not hers? If not hers, whose journal? My breath caught in my throat when I finally uncovered the note I am posting now among those stuffed in random order into the Born To box. My reading-weary brain exploded with the immense implications of what I discovered as I read this note and in anticipation of what the other notes in this stack will reveal – especially the light they may shed on where I might search next, and why she runs as she runs. So whose journal is this?! Why is it so familiar, yet, not...quite...Her? Whose journal? HER MOTHER'S JOURNAL! Thank God, my first coherent insight into the life of the one I seek! * * * * * S. B.s Journal (undated) NOTES TO MYSELF Those who imagine that the sperm of their special man begets only physical children have not yet opened the sweet portal. His sperm has engendered not only my physical children, but children within me who are every bit as playful, precocious, precious, and part of my life as are my flesh and blood children. And I am suspecting more every day that my youngest daughter...(ellipsis mine – Penning)...will one day know these internal spiritual children by name and by delicious dark deed like no other girl child has ever known the sweet beings in the sexual imagination – those in her own imagination, of course - but something tells me it is to [her](I, Penning, again omit the name) that I must bequeath these notes about the sexual children in my own imagination. I cannot bear for these sexual friends in my head to be lost if these notes are burned or discreetly discarded when I die. [She] must have them...ah, but when and how? I must find a way to pass them to [her] when she is of age. But Dear Diary, I digress with a mother's concerns when my attention is decidedly centered in my cunt this morning. My early thought this morning after engaging my husband and lover in our favorite way moistened me even beyond the act I performed: There is that one time when suddenly the supposed difficulty of ingesting sperm dissolves into a deeper appreciation of human union. I have sat countless times facing him with my naked thighs wrapped around his waist, holding him in my mouth or hands, or both, and coaxing him to release his sperm to me. I have come to love every nuance of his cum. I can now tell by its taste and smell when it is turning from the sweet clear lubricating moisture to the salty, more powerful ejaculation with which he finishes. I sit with his dick thickening and engorging in my hands, testing his taste to see how near he is. I hold him close to my mouth. I inhale the heady smell of arousing hormones. I help him expand his size and fullness by touching my tongue to different places on his dick. We are timeless now and there is no hurry. Even though this act itself is a fantasy moment, a million fantasies are compressed into this moment! Dozens of images of semen cascading into my mouth and the dozens of ways I have reached to embrace it and revel in it. My friends would be appalled to hear me say this; my parents and those of my brothers and sisters who have not yet done so for having conceived my child before wedlock would disown me for such filth – but it is specifically the filth that I crave! The raw delicious taste and smell of human life that is mine to indulge at will with one who devours mine! How can this be sin? I grew into a new dimension of woman and lover in one such eruption of his cock. That special time he was totally open and safe in my hands. I had come once already to his tongue and was hovering in an ecstatic high. My senses were jaggedly clear. The only excitement in my body, the only sensation in my entire being was sex. It happened in a timeless, slow movement. I could see us as though from a distance even though I was completely affixed to his cock. So many times I had felt him stiffen as he started to come, yet this time was different. When he stiffened before, I would naturally stiffen with him and prepare myself for the heat of his sperm. This time as his involuntary pulsing started, I felt a different response in his muscles. While he did tighten up, he also let go. As he let go and gave himself over to the instant, I also let go into the instant. I felt it more like the release of a deep breath. I felt his certainty, his knowing my heated desire for him, his intense passion arising from completely understanding that I wanted - not simply tolerated - his sperm deep in my mouth. And he let his liquid surge freely! I felt his release pour over me like a deep exhalation when he came. My mouth was dreamily filling with his delicious thick sperm. Having given himself over to letting himself flow freely, his involuntary convulsions were more powerful than when, before, he had been the most tense! I can best describe it as a kaleidoscope of all senses at once. I could smell his deepest essence as it grew steadily from a thin clear sweetness to an intoxicating thick potency. I felt surges of power race through my blood as this thick life substance encircled my tongue and flooded my mouth. I swallowed over and over again and felt the passion of generations of women beat in my chest. The raw taste and texture of my lover poured into me. Swallowing is such a weak summary of mouth pleasures. It is like describing in intricate detail a phenomenal meal, and then capping it by saying: we ate it. Of course we ate it. Of course I swallowed it. I turned my face toward him so he could watch as he filled my mouth. So far beyond swallowing, I was wearing him on my lips and my cheek and chin. Edible body perfume existing nowhere else and belonging to no other pours onto and into my body. I savor it completely afresh because it is never the same twice. His sperm is always the product of his life at the moment. Orgasm is so precious and powerful because we feel the intimacy of exposure and vulnerability as we pour our richest essence, in liquid form, into the hands and mouth - hence deep into the very body cavity - of another. It is sharing this liquid life essence that is more than anything the mystique of sex. Some use protective covers for their sex. Unfortunately, these private covers protect people from much more than diseases - they block the very essence of human merger! I am certainly not arguing against either preventing the birth of children in difficult times or circumstances, or against protecting ourselves from deadly diseases - I am only saying that the power of a committed and trusting relationship is the one true magical event in life: total sharing of bodies with no barriers for body or soul. No times evoke more heated passion and fond memory than those moments when he filled my cunt with cum and we sat mouth to mouth. Even this morning I tasted my cunt on his lips where I smeared myself as he ate me out moments ago. I involuntarily now reach down and finger deep inside me to catch his sperm and taste it. I mixed it with our kisses. I rubbed it into his lips and then tenderly licked it off. Creating little strings that I lengthened by drawing back, then shortened again as I sucked it back. Oh, yes. We have learned to share our liquid love. I often hold all his thickness in my mouth the best I can and then very slowly, looking deep in his eyes, bring that thickness to him with my mouth held wide for him to see. Nothing reaches the erotic power of feeling your lover's warm body on your skin, holding his sperm thick in your mouth, smelling your own cunt perfume on his face, and mixing your tongue with his as you explore the texture of his cum together. Breathless delirium. Sometimes I must even extend this moment further by letting his thickness run out of my mouth into my cupped hands. I lean back with him and hold my hands to our mouths and we kiss in this pool of cum. I dip my tongue into the pool and savor the salty power, coating my tongue with it. I probe into his mouth with it. I paint it onto our lips from my cupped palm with my free fingers. We have taken long moments and together licked my hands clean. Recently, I lay back in his arms with his sperm cupped in my hands. He spread my legs and worked one finger into my bottom and the other into my cunt. This brought me to a boil and by the time we had licked him up, he was hard again. We have found that the normal period of decline and lessened interest is sometimes a matter of simply stopping the play too soon. Bodies will certainly relax to rebuild energy and restore liquids, but the sexual experience has much greater capacity to extend into hours than people imagine - unless they love One person infinitely, and are brave enough to explore. And now I am going to masturbate as I read back through this morning's writings. As I write now, I am naked. I pulled off my panties several moments ago as I felt the delicious arousal creep once again into my nether parts. That special hormonal aroma is wafting up and feeding each breath. I am wet and I only barely refrained from keeping my fingers inside while I wrote a few more sentences. I am sure I am not the first woman to keep napkins next to me for these moments. But I am also certain I am one of few to dare put it into words that others may find - or am I? God, that I could believe all my sisters write their love, their sex, their passion! Oh to know that my daughter will! Well, I am probing my pussy now, exploring her gently, taking my time. Enough for now. Dear journal, and to all eyes and souls who may one day appreciate my most intimate thoughts... Thank you for listening. * * * * I find myself astonished at the timelessness of her words and the themes that continue to be explored and articulated by the daughter of the woman who bravely wrote these words in a time that wasn't quite ready, in a place that still would condemn her sexual openness! It is absolutely no surprise she would bear and rear a daughter who saw sex and writing as pursuits the embodiment of which she was certainly Born To. - Penning Freer Born To Ch. 07 I know I sound like a slut. I realize it may sound like I think everyone is somewhat of a slut. Let me be more clear. I only know that I am a slut. And I know that there are many other people who believe and feel like they are sluts. And I like those people and like to spend time with them. It's too simple really. I like to get naked and I like to be with other people who like to get naked. Being naked invokes something deep in me – it always has, since my earliest memories. It was really hard to come to grips with my burning desire to get naked and to feel sex. I just always wanted to do that. I always wanted to fuck. Even when I was fighting it the hardest and able to stave off the impulses by focusing hard on my work or my family or friends, lust was smoldering just below the surface. I can only hold it off so long before it gets hold of me and I have to go there. I speak as if I have now let go and given myself totally over to sex. It's really more complicated than that. I have a day job. Even sex requires far more of other kinds of work than one can imagine. I feel like a slut - not a sluggard. You will see how hard I work. The best way to describe my new release is to say I found out, and became totally convinced of and comfortable in the knowledge that there are many others of both sexes besides me, all around me, on this street, in the next room, maybe you, who long for fully free fucking. The world is full of people who are right now – right now as you and I think together over these words - taking off their clothes, stroking their dicks, fingering their pussies, fucking, fellating, sucking, swallowing, lying together cum covered, cum filled, cum sharing. See? That could be me. Now. True? That could be you. Now. Plus, that could be us. Now. What if I want to, and dare? Suppose you desire it and are brave? When and where two of us choose what's right for us now, it is so...? Again, I discovered and fell in love with the knowledge that there are many others of both sexes besides me who long for fully free fucking. I just wasn't hanging out with them - yet. I had grown up in a world where sluts weren't allowed and the people I married, and most of the people I spent my time with didn't dare open up about it. I am not saying at all that there weren't sexed men and women around me. I am not even suggesting that those I married were not sluts – it's just that in that framework, sex didn't come up prominently. If sex was ever mentioned, it turned embarrassing, or turned into a joke, or was acknowledged as a normal function then quickly put back in its place – where it continued to smolder and excite all manner of delight and chaos. Fortunate indeed are the friends and lovers and spouses that find the way to opening up and bringing sex out into their lives to play with and to share. Unfortunately, in my home town, sex was already indicted, convicted, and sentenced to sublimation and destructive sublimation was the only acceptable way to get it back into its place when it burst into the open – which it invariably did. We just never seemed to get the possibility of letting sex out to play and letting it stay out to play. So, as I said to start with, I am a slut. I always was. So sex would invariably well up in me and erupt out into my carefully constructed world. That always wreaked havoc and bad things invariably happened while the lust that had spilled out into the public was stuffed back into its dark secret place. See, sex was fine, but it belonged in a safe, hidden drawer with only one other person – my spouse. Notice that it belonged always to one other person – never just to me, nor was I ever that one person to whom it belonged. Isn't that a little odd? It was far safer to have a spouse to help guard this thing and keep it under wraps. I couldn't be trusted to handle it. Society needed the help of a dedicated guardian to protect the village from me. The village elders were wise. Nonetheless, my slut nature burst through periodically. In this world where sex belonged in a drawer underneath clean, folded underwear, a budding slut cheats, lies, runs around, runs away, and eventually disappears into the chronicles of hometown lore as a whispered name, an example of moral failure, a figure of warning to the young, and, invariably, yes invariably, a seed of secret attraction to the other unnamed budding sluts who are finding it impossible to keep their panties on when the lights go out, or their hands off their privates when their shorts come down. Every whispered story I heard made me wonder, what must that be like? Why is she so brave? How did she know how to do that? I want to try. One thing about open sex with others is how everyone really quickly moves into their own place to fuck, only vaguely aware of the others fucking intently around them. See, it stays my own even as I share. Certainly we are aware of the others and are fed by their openness, but we quickly focus on our own pleasure. Masturbating, fucking alone, was heavenly, and still it only got me to a certain level of the fuck experience. Fucking another, given the other was assigned by society, and even though the other was not The You, was divine, but it left me a key with an unanswered lock. Watching others fuck opened my eyes, and brought along both my self-fucking and my sharing with one other partner. Finally, fucking friends, and friends of friends, and feeding the frenzy of frenetic feelings frothing like fresh milk filling a farmer's pail – ah, this is fucking fueled by freedom! and this fucking feeds freedom. Do you want me to stay now? Will you stay? I'll show you mine if you show me you. I'll show you me if you'll show me yours. But no, that is just more of that conditional diatribe from which we emerged, and to which we will likely grow again, unless we remain true to what we are. Here, I show you me here and now for free. Just as I am. I don't require you to do anything. Leave if you must. Stay if you may. So, now, watch. Here is my dress. I hand it to you. Being a lover of Joe Cocker, I leave not my hat on, but I leave my ankle-strap shoes on. Do with them as you please. I free my tits into your air. Smell me yet? That soft, subtle wilted perfume tit mixed from this morning? I greet my nipples with a twist. Let me steady myself on your arm. Wait, now, there. Free from my panties. I will hold them right here until you ask for them, or just take them. Meet my pussy. Here, let me just spread her and primp her a bit. She loves this. She knows what's coming after we fun some. Smell me now? Not so subtle? Okay, I am going to fuck you now. Join me if you like.